Can The Truth Be Written?

17 Aug

I haven’t written a blog in over two weeks.  I’ve really missed blogging, but I’ve been avoiding it.  I am overwhelmed with all of the thoughts, feelings and perceptions I cannot write about; they are too personal.

Not to me, but to other people.  I know if these people came across my blog they wouldn’t be pleased to read all of my thoughts and realizations.  They might even be hurt.

This is something that I continually struggle with.  As a writer, I want to share my truth.   As a friend, girlfriend or family member, I want to protect those that I love.  It’s a delicate balance that feels stifling.  My unsaid words get stuck in my throat, and at times I find my mind encircling itself, and so I end up silent.

Yet, don’t I believe in, “the truth”?  Don’t I constantly encourage others to express theirs?  Isn’t staying silent a crime in certain situations?  Why should I sacrifice my truth?  Shouldn’t those who love me believe in mine?

“Yes,” I think, “yes, they should believe,” but the truth is the truth isn’t always necessary or right; that there is a time and place for things and it isn’t always in a public forum.

I know this dilemma isn’t going to go away, it’s going to follow me as I continue to blog and write.  Already people that I love have been hurt by my words, and it made me regret every single one I put down; that is until my inner-artist said, “no, it’s what you believe,” and so I stood by them.

My stance did not take away the desire to provide the antidote to the pain that they caused; my stance never will.   Yet, I will still stand by what I choose to share, unless I whole-heartedly believe that my words should have been kept in the closet, though we all know that most people aren’t happy there.

I know one day I might be my own sacrifice.   If I ever write for a large publication the comments section will flay me, and I will be torn by whatever cruelty comes my way, but that won’t stop me either because I know all truths sear.

The truth, the real truth, whatever it may be for anyone who’s out there is entirely personal and therefore divisive.   It is both mean and generous, both judgmental and understanding; the truth wears the face of everyone; both sides of our own masks, in darkness and in light.

When mine rears its beautiful ugliness, I hope it does so because it must, and not because it just wants to.

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